


Operation: Chupa Cabra

by inklizard (skinklegs)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinklegs/pseuds/inklizard
Summary: Maka enlists Soul’s help in the spectacular sabotage of one of Spirit’s father-daughter bonding attempts.Spoilers: It’s a fake dating fic. You love to see it.
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 26
Kudos: 161





	Operation: Chupa Cabra

**Author's Note:**

> You’re trapped! By societal convention! Look! We’re in a fine dining environment! Everyone knows not to throw a scene in a fancy restaurant!
> 
> That’s right. You’re trapped. Sit down.

It was no secret that Soul was a sucker for Maka. As much as he tried to pretend that was not the case, whenever she said “jump,” he, without a second thought, asked “how high?”

There was pretty much nothing he wouldn’t do if she was the one asking—or demanding, as was often the case. On top of being his meister, she was his best friend, and he would have followed her anywhere, or into anything. Many a time, this had come back to bite him squarely in the ass. Maka, as book-smart as she was, wasn’t exactly known for her good decision-making skills. She was reckless and impulsive and overemotional and dammit, someone had to look out for her, and if that someone had to be him, then so be it.

This was a brand new kind of thing, though. Protecting her from the colorful array of murderous, inhuman monstrosities they faced together on a weekly basis—that he could do, but he was out of his depth with this.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he grimaced as he straightened the tie around his neck. He looked like a dweeb with his dress shirt on. “This is a nice place,” Maka told him, “so dress up. Or don’t. It might be funnier if you don’t.” Wearing his casual clothes to a nice dinner didn’t feel right, though. Damn posh upbringing.

Anyway, “funny” was maybe not the first word Soul would have chosen to describe this situation, but Maka seemed to be having a blast. All day long, she was in a great mood, in stark contrast to the quiet, seething rage she had been stewing in for the last couple of weeks.

Oh, she was mad. She was so, so mad.

To back up: There was nothing nor nobody that could put Maka in a sour mood faster than one Spirit Albarn, dipshit extraordinaire. Death Scythe was an idiot, especially when it came to his darling daughter. He loved Maka—at least, he professed to—but he sure did have a funny way of showing it. His attempts to bond with her were usually pretty harmless, if a little annoying and weird, but this time, Spirit had crossed a line.

Normally, Maka would have rebuffed an invitation to dinner. She would have told him she had plans, or that she was flat out not interested. But this was not a normal dinner. Oh, no.

Maka had been fuming ever since she heard Spirit was hanging around with one of the women from Chupa Cabra’s. “He wants to tell me he’s seeing this woman,” she said. “That’s the only reason he would do this.”

Soul had no reason to argue. She was probably right, after all. “So don’t go,” he offered.

“That won’t change anything!” she shot back. “If he has the guts to tell me, let him, but I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

“Free dinner,” said Soul.

“Free dinner.”

Soul’s presence at said dinner did not come into play until a few days later.

He was minding his own, propped up on his pillows, doodling by the light of his bedside lamp. Through the wall that separated his room from the kitchen, he could hear Maka talking on the phone with someone—her father, he guessed—but the words were muffled by the music coming in through his earbuds. If he had been paying proper attention, the tone of her voice may have clued him in to what was about to come.

She was wound up all over again.

Footsteps stomped their way toward his bedroom door. Then, without knocking, Maka flung it open, causing Soul to jump and make an awful jittery line right through his drawing. Offended, he ripped out his earphones and twisted around, about to ask her what in God’s name her problem was. Before he could, though, she practically shouted at him: “Soul, I need you to be my boyfriend.”

The tick-tick-ticking of his alarm clock filled the silence between them as they stared at one another. Finally, Soul said, “You what?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you, but...what?”

Maka rolled her eyes at him, apparently frustrated he had not immediately connected the dots leading up to whatever the fuck prompted this.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “at dinner with my papa. I need you to be my boyfriend.”

Mouth still hanging halfway open, Soul raised his eyebrows at her. That was his only response. Maka groaned.

“Not, like, for real,” she explained. “Just to piss him off, you know? He wants to tell me he’s dating some woman from Chupa Cabra’s, I’ll tell him I’m dating you. He hates you.”

Factually correct. Soul couldn’t even be mad. He kind of hated Death Scythe, too, and normally, he would have snagged a cheap opportunity to make Spirit’s day a little worse. This was something else, though. This was how boys like him ended up with their faces on milk cartons. Death Scythe could have straight up murdered him if he wanted. Was that a risk Soul was willing to take just to see the look on Spirit’s face when he walked in with his arm around Maka?

Oh, yeah. Yeah, it was.

Blinking, he gathered himself and managed to say, “You want me to be your fake boyfriend to piss off your dad?”

“Yes.” Zero hesitation.

Soul narrowed his eyes at her. “Free dinner?” he asked.

“I’ll pay for it,” said Maka.

“What do I have to do?”

The list wasn’t long. All she wanted was for him to be himself, while also being as openly and obnoxiously affectionate toward her as he wanted. There were no holds barred; Soul was given carte blanche to do whatever he thought would get a reaction out of Spirit.

This didn’t feel real.

It still didn’t feel real as he was getting ready, listening to Maka hum to herself from her bedroom. Soul pulled on his cheek, making a face at himself in the mirror. The pinch told him he was not, in fact, dreaming, and that this was really about to happen. He was for real gonna get to dance on Spirit’s nerves for an entire evening while also being able to touch Maka a whole bunch. He hadn’t been this excited about anything in—actually, he couldn’t remember ever being this excited about anything. What an incredible event.

Acting like Maka's boyfriend should have been pretty easy, he thought. They were already best friends. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t...considered it. Maybe he even spent a little too much time considering it. But still, even if it sounded like a walk in the park, he found himself feeling kind of nervous. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to tell. Cool dudes didn’t get nervous with girls, after all, no matter how stupid cute those girls were.

As if on cue, he heard Maka call out his name. Her heels clicked along the tile floor as she danced over to peep in the open bathroom door. “You almost ready?” she asked, leaning in the doorframe.

Soul glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Then he looked back to the mirror, and then quickly back to her.

There were ribbons in her hair that matched her little wine-colored dress.

Oh, Soul was a sucker for Maka, alright. Good Lord.

“Uh—” He cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, which suddenly felt too tight around his collar. “Yeah. Whenever.”

Maka gave him a long, appraising look, then said, “You look nice.”

Oh, boy, had it always been so warm in there?

“Yeah,” said Soul. “I, uh...thought about dressing down, but I dunno. I don’t wanna get looks.”

Maka flashed him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Let’s go.” Then, pushing off the doorframe with her shoulder, she whirled around and gestured for him to come along. He did so without even thinking about it.

Soul hopped effortlessly down the stairs, stopping at the bottom of each flight to wait for Maka, who, mindful of her heels, scampered along after him as quickly as she could.

“You a hundred percent positive this isn’t a shit idea?” he asked her from the bottom of the stairwell.

“This is a shit idea,” said Maka, watching her footsteps, “but I want to do it so badly I don’t care.”

When she came off the last step, Soul decided to test the waters. “It’s not gonna be weird?” he said, and, as casually as he could, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised when she leaned easily into his side; too easily, maybe. She was really into this stupid idea.

“It’s not weird for me if it’s not weird for you,” she said.

It was weird for him, but not in, like, a bad way. He wasn’t about to tell her that, though. Instead, he said, “Nudge me twice if something’s up, or you want me to cool it down or whatever.”

Cool it down? He might have been getting ahead of himself with that one.

“Good idea,” said Maka, and bumped him twice in the ribs with her elbow. “Two nudges is an SOS.”

It felt like they were going on some kind of covert mission.

“This is so stupid,” Soul said.

“I know.”

One day, following Maka into all kinds of calamity was going to get him killed, and with the way she held on to his waist while he was trying to drive, that day might have been today. The weight of her head on the back of his shoulder was awfully distracting.

“You know we’re not there yet, right?” he asked her over the rumble of the engine.

“Huh?” came her voice next to his ear.

Have mercy.

“Nothing.”

If getting into character was what she was trying to do, she was more likely to make him crash his bike before they even made it to the stage, so to speak. That did not happen, but it wasn’t for Maka’s lack of trying.

Soul pulled the bike into an empty spot and shut off the engine. “Last chance to tell me to go home,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Her breath on the back of his neck sent a funny tingle up his spine. “This is gonna be so good.”

With that, she let go of him and climbed off, shimmying her hips and pulling on the hem of her dress to straighten it out. Suddenly, Soul felt like he needed a drink, and badly. Swallowing down his dry throat, he followed her. He was about to put his arm around her...then he paused and decided to offer it to her instead, and then when she reached for it, he tried to give her his hand, and it was a mess, and he wanted to die.

Maka giggled. “You’re a natural,” she said, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him along.

Fuck, stupid, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This was already going so not like how he pictured it.

He made a speedy recovery, though. After stumbling once, he managed to find his stride and scoot on up beside her. He even opened the door for her, which earned him a quick flash of a smile and a squeeze of his hand. Soul had to struggle to keep the dopey grin off his face.

That struggle got a lot more intense when he spotted Death Scythe sitting alone in a booth along the wall, talking to one of the waitstaff: A lady. Dude couldn’t keep himself in check for five minutes. He deserved what he was about to get.

Maka tightened her hold on Soul’s hand again, and, glancing down at her, he saw her standing there with pink cheeks and a sad little frown on her face. She looked almost disappointed, and Soul knew exactly why. Just like that, his urge to smile was gone, replaced by a pang of sympathy.

He gave her two nudges in the hip with the back of his hand. It took her a moment to remember what that meant. When she did, she looked up at him, and he mouthed, “You wanna go?”

She shook her head and, after a deep breath, seemed to collect herself again. Her brow furrowed with resolve, and she started to lead Soul over toward the table.

From behind the poor server he had ensnared in conversation, Spirit saw them approach. He looked first to Maka, and then, with palpable bafflement, to Soul. The color drained from Spirit’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something—ask something—but before he could get a word in, the server, either not sensing that something was amiss or just not caring, turned to greet Soul and Maka.

Maka shuffled into the booth first, asking for some water. Soul followed. “Same,” he said. Then, maintaining unwavering eye contact with Spirit, he scooted in close to Maka.

The waitress then politely excused herself, and at long last, it was just Soul, Maka, and Death Scythe.

The whole table was silent for some time. Then, finally, Spirit managed to croak, “Hello.” It was directed at Soul, evidenced by the unblinking stare Spirit was sending his way, but Maka was the one who answered.

“Hi, papa,” she said flippantly.

Soul gave him a disingenuous smile, and something in Spirit’s neck twitched.

“What’s, um…” Spirit propped his elbows on the table and gestured around with his hands, trying to find an inoffensive way to ask what the fuck Soul was doing there.

Maka pretended to have no idea what the problem was. “Hmm?”

Spirit struggled on. “Well,” he started, “I...didn’t know you were bringing...him.” He said all this with a stiff smile on his face, trying his best not to make his dear daughter upset. “Did you mention it?”

“Oh, Soul?” said Maka, as if Spirit could have been talking about anyone else. “No, I didn’t. I wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Keep what a—”

Maka leaned into Soul, laying her head on his shoulder and, with the hand not tucked between them, started to play with the tie around his neck. Spirit’s jaw nearly hit the table. Meanwhile, Soul went rigid under her, staring down at the top of her head. He felt an uncomfortable heat rising from his collar into his cheeks. Oh, shit, shit, shit. Think about anything else—literally anything.

“I thought this would be a good time to tell you,” Maka went on.

Soul hung all his attention on the sound of her voice.

“Tell me what?” Spirit was gritting his teeth through his smile.

“That—”

Two glasses of water were deposited in front of Soul and Maka, and, startled, Maka leaned back, much to the relief of Soul’s spluttering heart.

“Oh,” she said, “thank you.”

“Of course, honey,” said the kind waitress who did not deserve to be stuck in the middle of this shitshow. “Do you still need a few minutes?”

“Yes, please,” Spirit interjected.

Soul reached for his glass and took a long drink, his thoughts a breathless stream of panicked curse words. They were just getting started. He was going to need to chill out severely if he wanted to survive the rest of the evening. It was just Maka, he told himself; his best friend Maka, for whom he had a lot of strictly platonic feelings and nothing else.

When they were left alone again, Spirit put his chin in his hands and leaned forward, prompting Maka as gently as possible to go on. “Go ahead,” he said. “You can tell your papa anything.”

“Well,” Maka began again, “since we never really talk, while we’re here, I thought I’d take the time to tell you Soul and I—”

“Are dating,” Soul said coolly, swirling the ice around in his cup.

Spirit made a sound like he had just been socked in the gut, but segued it into forced laughter that lasted for, like, an uncomfortable amount of time. Had they not been surrounded by witnesses, Soul thought he would have been a dead man right then and there, but for right now, there was absolutely nothing Spirit could do without making himself look like a jackass. Soul hoped he looked as smug as he felt.

“Really?” said Spirit.

“Have been for a while,” Soul continued.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Spirit hissed through his teeth.

Maka threw a pout at her father. “Papa,” she scolded, and, like a dog that had just been smacked with a newspaper, Death Scythe recoiled. Soul felt Maka’s chest quiver with suppressed mirth, but she managed a pretty convincing frown when she sighed and said, “I knew you would be upset.”

“Upset?” Spirit’s voice cracked. He waved both his hands back and forth and said, “No, I’m not upset! Why would I be upset?”

“You look upset,” Maka observed. That was an understatement, thought Soul.

“Do I?” said Spirit in his high-pitched voice. “I feel fine! Maybe I just need a drink, huh?”

And with that, he downed about half his glass of white wine in a series of deep gulps. While he was preoccupied, Maka shot Soul a smile and a wink. He smiled back at her, and then, feeling bold, slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. A soft pink blush bloomed in her cheeks. Soul barely had time to savor it before Death Scythe all but slammed that innocent wine glass back down onto the table, startling them both.

“When, uh,” he started, “when did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew you’d act like this,” said Maka without missing a beat. It was as if she rehearsed this. Maybe she did.

“Act like what?” Spirit was scrambling for words. “How am I acting?”

Maka crossed her arms over her chest and scowled across the table at him. “Like yourself,” she said.

Death Scythe withered in his seat. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated, and, seeing an opportunity, Soul rubbed Maka’s upper arm and said, “Don’t worry about it, babe.”

Ohh, that felt weird. Not weird in a bad way; it was a self-indulgent, guilty pleasure kind of weird, like he was doing something he shouldn’t have, and half-expected to be scolded for it. He wasn’t; at least, not by Maka. Spirit, though, jabbed a finger in his direction and said, “Don’t call her that.”

Maka jumped to his defense. “It’s none of your business what he calls me,” she said.

“I’m your father. Anything that happens to you is my business.”

“Nothing’s happening to me! So I have a boyfriend.” (That word made Soul’s stomach feel funny.) “What’s the big deal?”

Spirit waffled again. “There is no big deal!” he said. “I’m just...looking out for you, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, you should be a little nicer to Soul,” said Maka, leaning sideways into him and sticking her lip out at her father. “He does a better job of that than you ever did.”

Ouch, thought Soul.

Something in Death Scythe seemed to short-circuit. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his face was frozen in a weird sort of grimace, caught halfway between a forced grin and a clownish, open-mouthed frown. He looked like he was about to bawl. He probably was, but reminded himself they were in a nice establishment, surrounded by innocent, oblivious bystanders. Instead, then, he launched into a long-winded spiel about how much he loved his darling daughter, and how she meant the world to him, and all that. Maka wasn’t paying attention, but Spirit didn’t seem to notice, because he did not stop.

Of all the aforementioned innocent bystanders, Soul felt the most sympathy for their poor, unfortunate server, who had to find a way to gently interrupt Spirit’s pathetic gushing so she could ask for their starters.

Soul and Maka went halfsies on some mushrooms. All Spirit asked for was some soup. His appetite must have been gone. Superb.

“Anyway,” said Maka, cutting her father off before he could start up again, “can we just talk about something else? I don’t think this is going anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” Spirit asked innocently. “It’s going—we’re talking, aren’t we? Everything’s fine!”

He spoke with all the ease and confidence of a man on the cusp of a psychological meltdown.

“You’re talking,” said Maka. “A lot.”

“Well...you talk, then!” He was trying to be encouraging, not antagonistic, but it had the same effect. “Don’t let me interrupt you. Go ahead.”

“What do you wanna hear?”

“Tell me about…” Spirit gestured broadly to the two of them and screwed his face up into some uncomfortable mockery of a smile.

It was at this time Soul realized it may have been a good idea to prepare a backstory. Up until this point, though, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He was way too preoccupied thinking about all the things he was gonna do to piss off Spirit. Luckily, Soul was pretty good at improv; he just hoped he and Maka would be able to stay on the same page.

“I asked her out about four months ago,” he said, “and she said ‘yeah.’”

Maka looked up at him with her head still on his shoulder, and all of a sudden their faces were very, very close. “I didn’t just say ‘yeah’”—she poked him in the chest—“but okay.”

“Well, what else?” said Soul, tapping each of his fingers successively along her arm.

“I remember saying ‘I thought you’d never ask.’”

Soul felt his smile fall as his train of thought came to a screeching halt, with sparks and all. Did she make that up on the spot? No way she didn’t, right?

The sudden change in his expression must have taken her by surprise, because she stopped smiling, too; just for a second, though. When it came back, it was brighter than ever, and nervous butterflies exploded in his belly.

“You, uh…you did say that, huh?” said Soul, grinning crookedly at her.

“You weren’t very good at keeping it a secret.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

Death Scythe cleared his throat loudly. Soul’s nerves snapped like a rubber band.

“Well,” said Spirit, clapping his hands together, “as long as my baby girl is happy, then that’s all that matters.”

Maka rolled her eyes and said, “Please don’t call me that.”

An idea struck Soul. It was an awful idea, but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think better of them.

“Can I call you that?”

Maka turned to him, wide-eyed and redder than he had ever seen her before, and every dirty word he knew flew through his mind in a blur of fathomless regret. He bit his tongue so hard he almost winced. “No holds barred,” she’d said—but oh, my God, what was that? Whatever it was, it most definitely got a reaction out of Death Scythe, who made a noise so high-pitched Soul expected dogs to start barking outside.

Of the three of them, Maka was the first to collect herself enough to speak.

“You cannot!” she said, giving Soul a playful shove.

Oh, thank God. She didn’t even break character.

“Okay, okay,” said Soul, trying to laugh off his self-inflicted embarrassment. “I was just kidding.”

“Bad joke.”

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin.

A sharp jab in his thigh grabbed his attention, and he glanced down to find Maka giving him a thumbs-up under the table.

Oh. Okay.

Across from them, Spirit looked like he was about to pop something. Soul pretended not to notice and, encouraged by Maka’s approval, rolled straight on through.

“Keep talking,” he said to her.

She took the cue.

“What else should I say?”

“Where’d I take you for our first date?”

“Out to the canyon,” she said, “on your bike, and we looked at the stars.”

Huh, thought Soul. She came up with that awfully fast. It was a good one, too. He tucked it in his back pocket for later.

“Even had her home before midnight,” he added, shooting Death Scythe a cocky smile. If looks could kill, Soul would have exploded into a gory mess all over the wall. Naturally, he went on. “I dunno if it counts for anything, though, ‘cause home is still with me.”

Then he pulled her tight against him and nuzzled her hair. She giggled, and he closed his eyes and let himself live in the sound for a second...before it was interrupted by Spirit’s grating voice.

“Soul Eater,” he said.

Uh oh. The full name.

Slowly, out of the corner of his eye, Soul looked at Death Scythe, and Death Scythe glowered at him like a puma eyeing up a newborn baby deer.

“What?” Soul asked.

“Papa,” warned Maka.

“I’m so glad you’re happy,” said Spirit to his daughter, “but as your father, I just want to make it clear that if you”—he thrust his finger at Soul again—“ever hurt my daughter in any way; if you disrespect her, if you even look at her the wrong way—”

“Papa!” Maka said again, but this time, Spirit was undeterred.

“I’ll make you wish you were never born,” he said. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Soul said smoothly. “I’ll only disrespect her if she asks.”

Spirit’s face went beet red.

Soul was a dead man. Spirit was going to kill him and they’d find his body in a ditch, sliced up into a thousand little bite-sized pieces, and it would’ve been so, so worth it.

This was the best night ever.

Death Scythe opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, trying to articulate the white-hot anger Soul could see plain as day behind his eyes. He must have wanted to yell so badly, and knowing he couldn’t without garnering the attention of the entire rest of the dining room was tearing him up on the inside.

Soul was on top of the world until the heel of Spirit’s shoe connected with his shin under the table. He yelped and jumped in his seat, and, startled, Maka lifted her head off his shoulder.

“What?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Soul said through gritted teeth.

Son of a bitch. That was going to bruise.

“You sure that was nothing?” Maka pressed, and, with the backs of her fingers, gave him two quick taps on the thigh. She was smart. He was sure she knew what happened, but he wasn’t about to make a thing out of it.

“Yeah,” said Soul, throwing a pointed look across the table toward Death Scythe. “Everything’s fine.”

Spirit was concealing a smirk behind his steepled fingers.

Soul frowned and knit his brow and jammed his heel into the top of Spirit’s shoe. He jumped, too, and grimaced, and Soul smiled a smug, toothy smile.

Looking back and forth between the two of them, Maka sighed softly and said, “Can you both please be normal?”

“What d’you mean?” asked Soul, grinning down at her.

She lifted an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. Cute, he thought.

That gave him an idea.

Soul’s eyes darkened. “I’m gonna need you to put that pout away,” he said. Then, he put his hand under Maka’s chin and, tipping her face up, ghosted his thumb across her lower lip.

The look on her face changed so fast, it was like flipping a switch. All of a sudden, her eyes went wide, and her face flushed red from her neck up to the tops of her ears. For some reason, he didn’t expect...that. The smile on his face fell in earnest surprise. It was at this time she started tapping her hand against the top of his thigh. She didn’t stop at just two; she must’ve done it about a dozen times, but it took a second for Soul’s neurons to synapse and figure out what was going on. When he did, all he could do was widen his eyes back at her, and they sat staring at each other like that—like idiots.

Mercifully—which is not a word Soul ever thought he’d use in regard to Maka’s father—Death Scythe intervened. He leaned over the table and spat, “What did she just say? Can’t you stop for five minutes?”

Soul jumped. A swell of anger swept up through him, and before he had even finished turning to look at Spirit, out of his mouth came: “Big talk coming from you.”

Audacious. “Stop for five minutes”—Soul remembered thinking the exact same thing about Death Scythe when they first walked in. This time, the dumbstruck look on Spirit’s face didn’t even give him any sense of satisfaction. Now he was just kind of upset for real.

He still had not taken his hand off Maka’s chin. He didn’t even realize until she swatted it away and grabbed him by the arm, giving him a shove, then a pull. “Time out,” she whispered.

When he looked at her, he found she was looking right past him, and, following her gaze, he saw that the kind server lady was on her way over.

Poor server lady, thought Soul. She could for sure tell something was up when she set their plates down. Spirit still looked like he was hemorrhaging, and the smile on Maka’s face was far too stiff to be genuine.

Soul wondered idly if he had any cash on him to leave for the lady.

Her presence was like a reset button. Everyone had to act like regular people for a minute, and it broke the tension and made everything a little calmer when she left. Not by much, though. Across the table, Soul thought he could hear Spirit grinding his teeth. Meanwhile, Maka was looking at her hands, and Soul was looking at her. He couldn’t stop thinking about the effect his last stunt had on her. There was no way she could have faked that, right? If she was faking, she wouldn’t have given him the two taps. That had to be genuine.

What was he supposed to do about that? Ignore it? Forget about it? Chase after it and see if he could get her to do it again?

That one, obviously.

Maka reached for a mushroom, but Soul grabbed it before she could, and, sliding seamlessly back into the game, started to play keep-away. Her eyes followed his hand as he zigzagged it in front of her, the frown on her face steadily deepening while his smile grew.

“Soul,” Maka complained.

He grinned at her, then brought the mushroom up to her lips and held it there.

She crossed her eyes and looked at it, so damn cute it wasn’t fair.

Then Spirit cleared his throat obnoxiously for a second time, earning a side-eye from Maka. Soul drew in a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Like I was saying before,” Spirit began.

Maka cut him off, though, saying, “I think we get the point.”

She grabbed Soul by the wrist to make sure he didn’t snatch her mushroom from her again. Then she stuffed the whole thing into her mouth, and Soul chuckled at the way her cheeks puffed up. He grabbed one, too, now that there was a lull.

“Anyway, um,” Maka started, “now that we’re not...you know, now that we’re being nice…”

“I was being nice,” said Soul through a mouthful of mushroom.

“Now that we’re being nice,” she said again, firmer this time, “papa, can I ask you something?”

Spirit looked up sharply from picking at his soup. “Huh? What is it?” he asked in that syrupy voice he used with her.

“Look,” said Maka, “when you asked me to have dinner, you said you just wanted to spend time together, right?”

Spirit hummed in agreement.

“Are you sure that’s all? Because it’s kind of weird for you to just...ask me to a nice place for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” said Death Scythe. “Isn’t it reason enough to want to spend time with my little girl?”

Maka looked at her father for a long time. She was still thinking about the woman from Chupa Cabra’s. Soul had almost forgotten that was the reason they were doing this. Way to steal Spirit’s thunder, if that was really why he asked her here. That was the point, though, figured Soul.

Did she still expect him to tell her after all that, and with Soul sitting right there? It sure didn’t look like he was going to.

“I guess,” Maka said after a long pause.

“And me,” added Soul, just to be a pain in the ass.

Death Scythe scowled at him. “And Soul Eater,” he said.

Soul wished he’d stop calling him that.

“But if there’s something else—” Maka started.

“There’s nothing else!” Spirit said cheerily.

Maka looked back and forth between Soul and her father. Out of the corner of his eye, Soul looked back. Both of them knew full well what was happening: Spirit was trying to back out of the situation he created, and Maka had no recourse without revealing she knew more than she should have. It didn’t matter too much. Whether or not Spirit had the guts to tell her, she knew. His cowardice, though, seemed to upset her even more than she already was. There was tension in her brow that hadn’t been there a minute ago, and her lips were pressed tightly into an almost-frown.

Soul put a hand on her arm.

“Hey, babe”—(that still felt weird)—“are you okay? You don’t look so good all of a sudden.”

“Me?” Maka sounded surprised.

“Yeah?” said Soul. “Who else?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Spirit cut her off, asking, “Maka? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” said Maka, confusion palpable.

“Do you wanna get some fresh air?” offered Soul.

He nudged her twice with the back of his hand, and it was then that it clicked for her.

“Oh, uh…”

“Are you feeling okay?” Spirit pressed.

“Yeah!” Maka said. “I just...I’m gonna go get some air for a second. I’ll be right back.”

Soul shuffled his way out of the booth and stood up so she could pass him. She shot him a quick, expectant glance as she did, like he didn’t already know to follow her.

He didn’t even bother excusing himself. All he did was point over his shoulder with his thumb and say, “I’m gonna go make sure she’s all good.”

“Now hold on—” Spirit started to get up, but Soul was already on his way out the door.

Strangely, when he stepped outside, Maka was nowhere to be found. He looked under the front awning and out across the parking lot, expecting to see her next to the bike, but she wasn’t there.

Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him backward. A yelp jumped out of his throat.

“Shh!” came Maka’s voice.

Soul spun around in time to see her turn on her heel and start off around the side of the building, dragging him by the wrist as she went. Bewildered, he stumbled along behind her.

“Hey, hey—” he hissed, but she paid him no attention; just kept on going.

She led him into the dark, narrow alleyway between the restaurant and the towering apartment complex next door. The air was hot and stale back there, but at least it was quiet—private—except for the dull whir of an air conditioner somewhere overhead.

Maka pressed her back into the brick wall behind her and stopped, peering toward the open mouth of the alley that led out into the parking lot. Finally, she let go of Soul, and, snatching his arm back, he asked her, “What gives?”

“In case he follows us,” said Maka.

Oh.

That made sense, actually.

She stayed like that for a little bit, then, apparently satisfied that Spirit was not going to materialize from around the corner, she relaxed with a soft huff and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes swept up to Soul’s and she asked, “Why did you wanna come out here?”

“You looked kinda upset,” said Soul. “I wanted to make sure you were still good.”

“Upset? No, I’m just…”

“Upset.”

Maka looked down and off to the side. “Maybe a little bit.”

“What for?”

She thought for a moment. Soul watched her suck on her lip, not even realizing he was looking until he had been doing so for, like, a weird amount of time. Stupid teenage boy brain.

“Just…” Maka began, “I don’t know. Does he think I’m not gonna find out? Why not just tell me?”

“Dumb,” said Soul.

“I guess.”

Poor Maka. This was supposed to be fun. She was excited for it, even—but Spirit was just so damn good at ruining her day. She tried to be unaffected, but Soul knew her better than that; he could tell it stung, even if she acted like it didn’t.

There had to be something he could do to make it better.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said. “You know, and I know; it’s not like that was the point of coming. We’re here to mess with your dad, right?”

She smiled at that. “Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to do this, by the way.”

“No worries. Hey, any time you wanna cause problems for that guy, you let me know, okay?”

Maka giggled, and Soul grinned like a dope.

“I will,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “I’m sorry he kicked you.”

“What? No, that’s cool. I mean, I was kind of asking for it.”

“Yeah, you kind of were,” said Maka. “Especially after…”

All of a sudden, she looked coy, like there was something she was too embarrassed to say. She looked down and hid her hands behind her back, flattening them against the wall and leaning on them. Soul raised an eyebrow at her.

“After what?” he asked.

Maka laughed nervously.

“Well, you really went all-in after that.”

Oh, yeah. That.

Heat gushed up from under his collar and into his cheeks.

“Wh—the—uh, yeah, that was, um…” Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Sorry, I got a little...that was too much, right? Sorry.”

Oh, my God, he thought to himself. Please just stop talking.

At least Maka was laughing. Or maybe that wasn’t a good thing? Was she laughing at him?

“No,” she said, “that was great. I thought he was gonna kill you, though.”

“He is,” said Soul without a moment’s hesitation. “You know that, right? If I go missing”—God, she had the cutest laugh—“you go talk to him and ask where he dumped the body at.”

“Stop!” she said through her giggles.

“He’ll tell you,” Soul continued. “And you’d better say some nice things about me at my funeral, too, ‘cause I’m doing this for you, you know?”

“I’ll light some candles,” said Maka.

“Thanks.”

She closed her eyes and grinned and looked so damn adorable it made his belly feel weird and fluttery and, all of a sudden, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Where were his hands supposed to go? In his pockets, he guessed, and there they went.

“Thank you again, Soul.” Oh, he wished she wouldn’t say his name right now. “I mean it; you didn’t have to do this.”

There was no way to tell her he wanted to without sounding like a weirdo.

“Yeah, well…” He lifted one hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t think you would’ve let me say ‘no’ if I wanted to, so…”

“You could’ve said ‘no.’”

“To you? No, can’t.”

“To me?” said Maka, quirking an eyebrow at him. She leaned forward, her hands still behind her back, and Soul felt his eyes pop open wide. “What does that mean?”

“Means I’d do anything for you,” is what he might have said if he weren’t panicking.

Instead, what he said was: “You’ll beat me up if I do.”

Smooth.

It got her to laugh, though.

“Look,” she said, “we should probably get back inside before my dad comes looking for me.”

Fuck, thought Soul. Back inside with Spirit was not where he wanted to be. She was right, though; they had been out there for a hot minute, and Death Scythe was already pretty worried when they left. Soul was kind of surprised he hadn’t come out already. Maybe the nice waitress lady had come back and distracted him. Nothing could make Spirit forget about his daughter faster than a set of tits.

Ouch. Bad thought. Get that outta here.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Soul.

Maka hesitated, though. She threw a glance at the end of the alley, and, finding it empty, looked back to Soul. Her eyes wandered down to his chest, and then, slowly, she pushed off the wall behind her and took a step forward, closing the short distance between them.

Soul’s heart stopped. It froze along with the rest of him, and all he could do was stare down at her, open-mouthed, while she reached for the tie around his neck.

“What d’you think he thinks we’re doing out here?” she asked.

“What do I think he what?” said Soul.

Maka didn’t answer. She wasn’t even looking at him. His hands jittered in his pockets as she slipped a finger underneath his tie and pulled, loosening it and leaving it crooked under his collar.

“What are you doing?” Surely his voice hadn’t always been so high-pitched. He couldn’t remember, though.

“Playing the game,” said Maka.

Then, all of a sudden, her arms were draped over his shoulders, and, starting from the back of his neck, she raked her fingers up through his hair, making a mess of it, like it didn’t already look...like that. Soul bit back the embarrassing noise he almost made. Heat pooled in his cheeks, his neck, his ears—and, like, a bunch of other places, too. He sent up a prayer to whatever god was listening that it was too dark back there for her to see him blush.

“Good Lord, Maka,” he said once his synapses started to fire again. “You can’t just...do that.”

“Yeah, well,” said Maka, leaning back to admire her work, “you shouldn’t’ve touched my lip like that. Now we’re even.”

“You’re still—” Soul swallowed. The memory of Maka’s lip under his thumb stirred up butterflies in his belly. “You’re still thinkin’ about that?”

She paused.

That had been pretty much all she talked about since they came out here, and pretty much all he thought about since it happened.

“Kinda,” she said.

Soul was almost sort of proud. If he had known it would affect her that much, he would’ve tried it sooner, and maybe also not in the context of a big, stupid joke.

“Yeah?” said Soul. He took a step toward her, and she stepped back, and he saw her jump a little when her back pressed up against the wall, like she had forgotten it was there. “How’d I do that?” he went on. “Wasn’t it, like…”

He leaned forward with his forearm against the wall next to her head. His other hand cupped her chin, tilting it up toward him, and just like last time, her eyes went wide as saucers. Her lip quivered as she tried to stutter out...something, but no words came out of her; only little false starts that died on her tongue.

With hungry eyes, Soul looked down at her lips, and, to his surprise, Maka looked at his, too, her eyes falling half-shut as she did.

Just like that, all his bravado washed out of him.

What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck was she doing? What the fuck was this? What was he planning on doing now? Was he gonna kiss her? Was she gonna let him?

_Was she gonna let him?_

Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Please be cool. Please.

“I was bluffing,” he blurted out.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck, oh my God. Holy shit.

Maka’s eyes darted back up to his. “Huh?” she said, her voice small and quiet and breathy and oh, fuck.

“I was bluffing,” Soul said again. “I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

He heard her suck in a deep breath. She puffed all up and bit down hard on her lip, staring at him with panic in her eyes. He was pretty sure he was looking back at her the same way.

“Wait,” said Soul. “Were you going for it?”

“Soul!”

“Were you?” Please shut up, please shut up, please— “Did I read it wrong? Am I stupid?”

“Yes!” said Maka, shoving him in the chest.

Okay, yeah.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “That’s not how I wanted this to go!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

“You what?” Maka asked.

“Not—look—okay, this never happened.”

“This is still happening!”

Yeah, unfortunately, death hadn’t taken him yet, even though he wished it would.

He tried to back off, but she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him back so hard he stumbled, leaning heavy on the elbow that was still against the wall.

“Were you gonna kiss me?” she asked.

Soul stared dumbly at her, mouth hanging open, heart hammering in his chest. She must have felt it; her hands were still tangled in his shirt. It took a really long time for him to say, “No…”

“Were you?” Maka asked again, tightening her grip on his shirt and giving him a shake.

“I don’t know!” he said. “I didn’t think you were gonna let me!”

“Would you have if I did?”

“I don’t—fuck, I don’t know! Not in a dirty back alley, I guess!”

She just...looked at him. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Was there any way—any possible way he could play this off as a joke? Just a part of the game they were playing?

“Soul,” Maka said again, softer, and the sound of his name made his heart skip a beat.

Her grip on his shirt loosened, and instead of holding on to him, she flattened her hands against his chest. He watched her, holding his breath. It occurred to him he hadn’t blinked in...a while.

“Yeah?” he said.

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his mouth, then down to her hands on his chest.

“Okay,” she said at length. “Not in a dirty alley.”

“What?” said Soul.

She didn’t answer. All she said was: “Can we go back in?”

“Back—huh? I mean...yeah, sure.”

Good Lord.

Maybe Soul would get lucky and Spirit would disembowel him before he had to face the consequences of what had just occurred.

All he could think about was that he had a chance to kiss Maka, and he’d blown it harder than he’d ever blown anything in his life—and it wasn’t like the list of things he’d screwed up before was a short one, either. That had to have been, bar none, the most uncool thing to have ever happened to him, or anyone.

By the time they finished the walk of shame back to the dinner table, he completely forgot that Maka had messed him up. His tie was still lopsided around his collar, and his hair—well, he couldn’t see it, but he imagined it looked worse than normal after what she did to it. It took him a second to realize that must have been why Spirit was looking at him with “second degree murder” written in his eyes.

There wasn’t a hair out of place on Maka’s head, and somehow Spirit still found a way to pin the wrongdoing on Soul, huh? Clearly there were things about his daughter he didn’t know. To be fair, this was a side of Maka that Soul had never seen before, either. It was one he wouldn’t mind seeing more of, though.

Not that that would ever happen after the fiasco in the alley. After that, Soul couldn’t even find any humor in Spirit’s reaction. This whole thing didn’t feel much like a game anymore.

Maka tried to slip back into it, but he could tell it was hard for her, too. When they sat down, she laid her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. Behind her eyes was an uncertainty that wasn’t there before, like she was asking him if it was okay. He answered with an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close, and he felt her relax against his side.

He had to remind himself to keep breathing.

Death Scythe asked Maka if she was alright, and Maka said that she was. This did absolutely nothing to dissuade him from staring Soul down like he wanted to choke the life out of him. At this point, Soul would have welcomed it.

“What did we miss?” Maka asked innocently.

“Nothing,” said Spirit. “What did I miss?”

“Huh?”

Death Scythe’s gaze was fixed on Soul.

“You two were out there for a while,” Spirit pointed out through gritted teeth.

“Were we?” said Maka. Idly, she started to play with Soul’s tie again, this time giving it little tugs to pull it back into place. Was she trying to draw attention to it? If so, she succeeded. The vein in Spirit’s forehead twitched.

“A little longer than I thought you’d be,” he said. “I was starting to get worried. You sure everything’s okay?”

Maka hummed and nodded and all of a sudden, Soul understood what it was she was doing. If Spirit wouldn’t tell her about the Chupa Cabra woman, then she would go ahead and lie to his face like he was lying to hers.

Soul felt kind of like a pawn. It might have bothered him more if he didn’t have Maka curled up under his arm. That made the whole pawn thing pretty worth it.

Maka tried to change the subject; act like nothing happened. It didn’t—Soul kicked himself again at the reminder—but it sure looked like it did, and Spirit seemed pretty convinced, judging by how his jaw refused to unclench the entire time he and Maka were talking.

Soul popped a lukewarm mushroom into his mouth and half-listened to their conversation.

It was nothing terribly interesting. Maka asked Spirit about his soup, and he looked at it like he had just remembered it was there. Then, after assuring her it was fantastic and, to prove his point, shoving a cold spoonful down his throat, he asked about the mushrooms. By then, Soul had zoned way, way out. He kept thinking about Maka saying, “Not in a dirty alley.” What did that mean? Did it mean that, maybe, if they were somewhere else—

“Soul?” said Maka.

He jumped a little, and answered with a stiff, “Huh?”

“You’re quiet.” She put a hand on his knee. That wasn’t for show; Spirit couldn’t see it. Soul swallowed hard. “Are you okay?” she asked.

No. Yes. Very—not—okay.

“What? Yeah, I’m just…” Soul cleared his throat nervously. “I just like listening to you.”

Maka turned pink, and for a second, the smile she gave him made everything feel okay.

Lord, he was in trouble.

“Actually,” came the unwelcome sound of Spirit’s voice, “Soul Eater, if you don’t mind, there’s one quick little thing I wanted to ask you.”

Soul couldn’t fucking imagine. After what Maka pulled, he expected Spirit to ask him his blood type so the EMTs would know what kind of transfusion to put in him.

“Do I have a—”

Death Scythe talked completely over him; there was barely time for Soul to get a word in before Spirit went on, asking through a forced smile, “Do you mind?”

“Kind of,” Soul grumbled under his breath.

“Good!” said Spirit.

Soul rolled his eyes, but played along. For Maka. “Spit it out,” he said.

“Well,” Spirit began.

“Oh, Lord,” said Soul.

Death Scythe folded his hands on top of the table and levelled a stare Soul’s way. It didn’t faze him; he just wanted this to be over with. Sitting so close to Maka, knowing what just happened, thinking about what might still happen, was making him restless. He wanted—needed—to talk to her alone, and every minute he spent stuck here with Death Scythe instead filled him with a mounting urge to roll his head back and just fucking scream.

This wasn’t the first time he wanted to scream his throat raw in the middle of an upscale establishment, though, and it wouldn’t be the last. He had learned how to control himself, but it was a little harder with someone actively grating on his nerves.

“I just want to know,” said Spirit, “what your intentions are with my daughter.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

Maka’s head popped up off Soul’s shoulder. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

“As your father, I have a right to know.”

“What’re you talking about?” Soul said impatiently. “What d’you mean, ‘intentions?’”

“I mean where do you see your relationship going?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. If his head was still in the game, he probably would have said something about eloping to Vegas, just to see if he could make Spirit burst into flames, but now, the idea didn’t even occur to him. All he could think about as far as a relationship with Maka was to fucking have one to begin with.

Spirit didn’t seem to like that. “You don’t know?” he said, like he didn’t think he was talking to a sixteen-year-old boy.

“I think,” Maka interjected, “you made Soul uncomfortable enough for one night, okay?”

“No, no,” said Death Scythe. With a flick of the wrist, he gave a slight wave of his hand. “No need to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Soul said. That was a lie; he was, but for entirely separate reasons. “I just don’t know what you want from me.”

Before Spirit could answer, Maka interrupted again. “Well, I want to figure out what we’re having for dinner.”

Oh, yeah. They were supposed to be eating. Soul had kind of lost his appetite, though; for food, anyway. He was only eating the mushrooms because they were in front of him and he had fuck all idea what else to do.

Unsurprisingly, Spirit was not willing to take the hint. He went on as if Maka had said nothing at all. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said to Soul.

That was a lie, too, and a bad one.

“We’re—I don’t know, okay? We’re gonna see where it goes. I don’t know.”

“That’s all?” asked Spirit.

Soul was starting to get fed up, and Maka must have been able to tell, because he felt two gentle taps on his thigh. He ignored them, though. He was fine. He could handle this.

“What do you think’s gonna happen?” he said. “Look, even before this, you always acted like I was gonna hurt Maka somehow. Well, I’m not, okay? I don’t know what kinda guy you think I am, but—”

There was a lot he wanted to say. “I’m not like you,” came to mind, but he bit his tongue.

Feeling Maka’s eyes on him, he hesitated. All the words he held in the back of his throat—this wasn’t something he should be saying right now. Save it, he told himself, and then, for the hundredth time that night, didn’t listen. “I like Maka a lot,” he said at length. “I care about her a lot. Okay? I don’t wanna hurt her. I’m not using her. I’m not—I’m not doing whatever dumb shit you think I’m doing, so would you knock it off?”

For the first time in a while, silence settled over the table. Spirit opened his mouth to reply, but stopped, and for a moment, all he did was look at Soul, scrutinizing him as if looking for some kind of sign that he was lying. He wasn’t. He wasn’t lying, or playing, or anything like that.

Death Scythe was the first one to speak. “That’s good,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep it that way.”

Anger—real, actual anger—bubbled up in Soul. Who the fuck did Spirit think he was, trying to talk to Soul about hurting Maka? The whole reason they were here tonight, pulling this stupid joke, was because Spirit hurt her so many times in so many different ways, this was just the last fucking straw.

“Don’t get it backward,” snapped Soul. “I’m not saying that ‘cause I’m scared of you. I’m saying it ‘cause I love her.”

That came out smoother than he thought it would. It didn’t even really occur to him what he was saying until it was already out of his mouth.

In his peripheral, he could see Maka looking at him. It took him a moment to look back. This wasn’t the first time he told her he loved her; as far as Spirit was concerned, anyway. He couldn’t act like it was without blowing their cover. But oh, God, the look she gave him; the way she smiled at him when their eyes met—even if it was all an act, it was the sweetest damn thing he’d ever seen.

He swallowed and, staring steadily into her big green eyes, added, “I’m not gonna leave her, ever.”

Something in those eyes changed then. They got just a little bit brighter. So did her cheeks; her whole face lit up with a blush that jammed Soul’s heart up into his throat. Then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, she said, “Promise?”

Soul could barely breathe. Was she playing? There was no way; not looking at him like that, she wasn’t. She was for real.

Oh, God, this was happening.

“Yeah,” was all he managed to say.

It was enough. Maka’s grin was positively blinding.

Everything started to simmer down after that. Soul was not panicking any less—actually, he was panicking double, now that he had said...that. It must have been the right thing to say, though. Not only did it make Maka happy, but apparently, it appeased Death Scythe, too, because he really did lay off. For now, anyway. Soul expected Spirit still hated his guts, and that this whole thing they started was far from over. But maybe—just maybe—for tonight, Maka’s happiness was more important than that.

At the end, when they all got up to leave, Spirit wanted to hug his daughter goodbye. Soul took the opportunity to dig into his pockets for whatever spare change he had, and snuck it onto the table on top of Spirit’s dollar bills. He thought about leaving a note that said, “I’m sorry you had to see that,” but there was nothing to write on.

Finally, they went their separate ways. Spirit wandered on down the street, and Maka led Soul by the hand to the bike that waited out front. Neither of them said a word to each other. Maka looked at him once, and he thought she was going to say something, but when he looked back at her, she turned away. Soul leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, but all he saw was a whisper of a smile. Then, she slipped her fingers in between his and gave his hand a soft squeeze.

Soul could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of him. He hoped his hands weren’t sweaty or anything. That would’ve been gross.

“Uh...hey,” he croaked.

That got her attention. The look she gave him was more of a glance, but their eyes did meet for a second, and when they did, Soul’s heart jumped a beat.

“Yeah?” said Maka.

Deep breath.

An idea had been knocking around in his head for a while now. He kept thinking: “Not in a dirty alley.” If not in the alley, then, where? He thought he had a pretty good guess.

“D’you, uh…” Soul fidgeted nervously with his keys. “D’you wanna go for a drive?”

“Drive where?” she asked.

“Surprise,” said Soul. “We don’t...have to, but I thought you might wanna, uh…”

He didn’t even have to finish his thought; Maka did it for him. “Talk?” she said.

“Yeah.”

For a few long seconds, Maka seemed to consider the offer. Soul held his breath all the while, until she bumped her shoulder into his, and finally said, “Yeah. Good idea.”

Soul was as relieved as he was terrified. He wasn’t very good at the whole “talking” thing, but fuck it; he wasn’t about to let whatever this was slip through his fingers. If there was a chance she wasn’t playing—if she really wanted that kiss in the alley—then Soul was gonna chase it. He had to.

He swung his leg over his bike and started the engine. Maka climbed on behind him, and as soon as she did, she leaned heavy into his back and slipped her arms around his waist. Her hands slid up underneath his chest, and he felt his eyes go wide. That was brand new; so was the way she snuggled her head into the back of his shoulder.

Maybe he should invest in, like, a car, or something. If she kept on doing that, it was gonna kill them both, but it wasn’t like he was gonna ask her not to.

A couple times, she lifted her head up to look around, trying to figure out where he was taking her. Soul thought it must have clicked when they hit the open road outside the city, but he couldn’t tell. Maka didn’t say anything; not that he would have been able to hear her over the engine, especially once they started out into the desert, where there wasn’t a stoplight for miles and the speed limit was more of a polite suggestion.

A suggestion Soul didn’t care to listen to.

Maybe he was showing off a little. It was fine. He knew how to drive, and it wasn’t like there was anything out there to crash into, anyway. Lucky for him, too, because Maka was still holding on to him like...that.

Soul spent the entire drive trying to come up with something to say once they got where they were going. All the words he had been thinking of failed him, though, when he rolled the bike to a stop alongside the road, and Maka, seeing where they ended up, squeezed him tight in a backwards hug. Then she leaned in close, and he felt her lips brush against his ear when she said, “You’re a dork.”

A toothy grin split his face.

Soul flicked the light off and took the key out of the ignition, letting the silence of the desert swallow them up. It was deafeningly quiet out there, and pitch black, too; the only light was that of the moon and the stars hanging up above the deep, gaping hole that carved its way through the desert.

Canyon. Stargazing. Soul was awfully proud of himself considering this wasn’t his idea.

“So I listen when you say things,” he said. “Why’s that get me made fun of?”

Maka clambered off the bike and, laughing, spun around on her heel. Soul couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Not making fun of you,” she said. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“It was your idea.”

“You remembered.”

Fuck yeah, he did.

Soul stood up, and while they walked, he busied himself pressing the creases out of his jacket. The wind had done a number on it. Not that he really cared; it was just something to do with his hands. He wanted to hold hers, but now that they were alone, he thought that might be too forward. Maybe he could put his arm around her again, or…

“It’s pretty out here,” said Maka.

Yeah. Pretty.

“You think?”

She looked up at him then, and in the dark, he just barely saw her quirk an eyebrow. “You don’t?” she asked.

Soul shrugged and, eyes on her, he said, “I dunno. I wasn’t looking.”

It was too dark to tell if he managed to make her blush, but she did laugh, and that was good enough for him. Grinning that same dopey grin from before, Soul slipped an arm around her shoulders, and just like the first time, she leaned easily into his side.

Now or never, he thought.

“So, uh…”

“Where do you wanna start?” asked Maka.

That was a damn good question.

“I dunno,” he confessed. “You know I’m not good at this.”

“Well…” Maka tipped her head back, staring up at the sky. Soul was kind of grateful. Having her eyes on him would have made this a lot more difficult than it already was. “I could start,” she offered, “if that’s easier.”

Soul tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it didn’t budge. “Go for it,” he said thickly.

He wasn’t sure what he expected her to lead with. Hell, a second ago, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to lead with. Whatever it was, though, it wasn’t: “Did you mean what you said?”

Soul’s heart throbbed in his chest. This was it. As one last little “fuck you,” he was gonna have a heart attack in the middle of the desert and rob Spirit of the satisfaction of beating him to death.

Looking down at his shoes, he scuffed one along the pathway and sent a little pebble scuttling through the dust. “I said a lot of things,” he mumbled.

Then, without missing a beat, Maka said, “You know what I’m talking about.”

Yeah, that was what he was afraid of.

“Gimme a hint,” said Soul.

“‘I love you?’”

Those three words out of Maka’s lips hit him like a punch in the gut.

Not ten yards away was the drop-off into the canyon. If he was quick enough, he could just hop the guardrail and avoid having to answer that forever. What did she expect him to say? It was a “yes” or “no” question. One of those two things was a lie. The other one...maybe? A little bit? Yes? Fuck.

He couldn’t just come out and say that.

Instead, Soul did what he did best: gave a non-answer to a question that would have otherwise required him to acknowledge his own feelings.

“You, uh...you come on awful strong, you know that?”

“Says you.” Maka bumped her elbow into Soul’s ribs. “You started it.”

“I started it?” Incredulity dripped off his voice. “Nuh-uh. You came up with this, not me.”

“Yeah, as a joke!”

“I’m the one that made it not a joke?”

“Yes!” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When you tried to kiss me!”

“I wasn’t gonna—” Those words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about what he was saying. He wasn’t gonna...what? Kiss her? That was a lie, too. It’s not that he wouldn’t, or didn’t want to; it was that he didn’t think she would let him. “I mean...I thought you’d, like, push me away or something,” he explained. “I didn’t think you’d...you know.”

“I wouldn’t push you away.”

Another punch in the gut. This one knocked the breath out of his lungs.

For the first time in a while, Soul turned his eyes Maka’s way. He must have been making some kind of face, too, because when she looked at him, she started to giggle, and fuck, that was the last thing he needed right now.

“For real?” he said.

Maka slowed her leisurely stroll to a halt and, without taking her eyes off him, reached a hand over to rest on the metal railing beside her. She shrugged out from under his arm, and at first, he was almost disappointed, but then, she turned, backing up against the fence, hands behind her, in a way that sort of reminded him of how she stood against the red brick in the alleyway.

Everything kind of stood still for a second. Then, she said to him, “You can try if you don’t believe me.”

It almost swept his knees out from under him.

This didn’t feel real. In the back of his mind, through the dizzy, heady haze that had taken up the space where his brain used to be, he remembered thinking the same thing earlier that night. This, though—this especially didn’t feel real. When he asked her here, he thought that maybe, if he did everything right, he might get another chance to kiss her. He did not expect her to straight up ask for it.

And now that she had, he was just...standing there, staring at her, like some kind of idiot.

The little voice inside his head begged him to get his shit together and do something—anything. The first thing he thought of was to square his shoulders, pull on his lapels, and straighten out his tie. He wanted to make her laugh again, half to stall, and half because it was really, really cute. It worked. Giggling, Maka rolled her eyes at him and said, “Get over here.”

She didn’t have to ask twice.

When he stepped in close enough to touch, she dipped her head, and Soul took the cue, bringing a hand up underneath her chin. Just like before, he tilted her head up, and this time, when he leaned in, she slowly closed her eyes. Soul’s heart tried to jump out of his throat, but he swallowed it back down. No choking. This was the one, and he was gonna make it perfect.

He started with a kiss on the forehead. Over the gush of his own heartbeat in his ears, he heard her hum a soft, sweet little sound, and it stirred up something in his belly: a fuzzy kind of feeling that made him warm all over.

He kissed her again, high on the cheek this time, and then again, and again, lower and lower until he got to the corner of her mouth. Her nervous, excited giggles could’ve melted him into a puddle. That, and the way the world seemed to whirl around him, made it hard to keep himself right-side up. The whole thing was like something out of a dream. Then, it got even better.

Maka turned her head just a little, and he felt her nose bump clumsily into his. It was cute, he thought, and he almost chuckled...but forgot all about it when, next thing he knew, he had her smile pressed firmly into his lips.

What had once been a laugh escaped him in a startled huff of breath as Soul’s heart hurled itself against his chest. First, his eyes popped open wide, but he wasn’t really looking anywhere, or seeing anything; then, a second later—way, way too late—it clicked inside his head that Maka—his best friend Maka, who he had been kind of maybe a little bit in love with forever—was kissing him, and that he should have been doing something about it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Soul tried his damnedest to kiss her back. He wasn’t really sure how; all he could do was hope he was doing it right. It felt like he was. Fucking awesome is what it felt like, actually.

Everything was so unbelievably, impossibly perfect. When Maka pulled away, she did so in a flood of giggles that, for the second time that night, almost took Soul’s knees out from under him. He followed her, like he always did, till his forehead bumped into hers, and there he stayed, drowning in the sweet sound of her laughter.

Her breath tickled a little when she murmured, “Okay.”

“Okay?” said Soul in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

“Yeah.”

Very okay.

Grinning, Soul moved his hand from under her chin to caress her cheek, and she leaned her head sideways into his touch. He heard her sigh. Then, she said, “You wanna know a secret?”

“Wha?” was all he could get out.

“All night, I kept thinking about how I was gonna tell my papa we were joking around.”

“Were you gonna?”

“I figured I’d have to. Or, you know, it’d get out, and we weren’t really...you know.”

Soul opened his eyes then, leaning back just enough to look at her. “‘Weren’t?’” he said.

Blinking, Maka opened her eyes, too. In the dark, it took her a moment to find his. When she looked up at him, Soul felt like he was going to choke on his own heartbeat.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, like…” Words were very, very hard. “Like, weren’t before?”

“Huh?”

Oh, God, what a mess.

“You said ‘weren’t,’” Soul went on, trying to ignore the rising heat in his cheeks. “Not ‘aren’t.’”

The bottom of that canyon was looking more and more inviting by the second.

“Well...yeah,” said Maka, taking a long look down at his lips. Soul swallowed hard. She went on: “I mean, I thought so. Unless that was, like, a friendly kiss on the mouth you just gave me.”

“No!” Soul said a little too quickly.

One corner of her mouth quirked up into a half-smile. “Are you sure?” she said.

“Huh?”

“I mean, now I don’t know if I believe you.”

Soul panicked a little bit. He opened his mouth to tell her that no, he really did mean it, he wasn’t playing anymore, he promised—but then, Maka’s eyes, still lingering on his lips, drifted halfway closed, and before he could get a word in, she said, “You might have to do it again, just so I can make sure.”

Oh.

_Ohhh._

The excited, jittery, panicky feeling didn’t go away; if anything, it got worse, and better—somehow both at the same time.

“Again?” he said.

“Yeah.”

All the stars in the sky had nothing on the ones in her eyes.

Soul was, as always, a sucker.

• • • • •

There were still a couple of loose ends that had yet to be tied up. For one: Who was this mysterious woman Spirit was seeing? And two: Where did Maka hear about it to begin with? When he first asked her about the latter, all she said was: “Girls at school,” which was nonspecific enough to make Soul think she didn’t even really know who she was talking about. It was just like Maka to overreact to some second-hand hallway gossip, but Soul wasn’t about to tell her that; first because he was afraid of upsetting her more than she already was, and now because...well, he just earned his girl-kissing privileges. He was enjoying those way too much for them to be taken away because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about something that, as far as he was concerned, didn’t even matter all that much.

What he was really curious about was the former: Who was the rumor about? Who was the Chupa Cabra woman?

That thought, which had been occupying him on his way home from the store, was put on hold when he heard someone calling his name.

“Soul!” came a voice from behind him. Some kind of Pavlovian fear response went off in the back of his head, and he whipped around, almost dropping his grocery bags.

All he had time to say was: “Don’t—”

Then, in a blur of motion, someone crashed into him, and a pair of arms closed like a vice around his neck. It was too late; he wasn’t fast enough to run away, and now there was no escape.

At some point—and he wasn’t sure when—Soul dropped his bags for real. It didn’t occur to him until all of a sudden, he realized his hands were free, and he started pushing to release himself from the arms that ensnared him.

“Blair!” he wheezed. “Get off me!”

She did the complete opposite. Snuggling up to his chest, she rubbed her face—she actually rubbed her face against his cheek. “This is so great!” she said. “I was just on my way to see you!”

Fantastic.

“Why?” croaked Soul.

“I just heard!” said Blair, as if that clarified anything at all.

“What are you talking about?”

Then, with an exuberant gasp, Blair took him by the shoulders and practically shoved him backward, holding him at arm’s length in front of her. She positively beamed. It would have been kind of cute if her black pupils hadn’t almost entirely eclipsed her irises.

“You and Maka!” she gushed.

The sense that made was fleeting.

How could Blair possibly know about that? It just happened yesterday, and as far as Soul knew, both he and Maka had yet to tell anyone.

Wait a second.

“Hold it,” said Soul.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“Back up.”

No brakes on the Blair train. “How long ago was this?” she went on. “You have to tell me everything, do you hear me? Everything!”

Soul almost shouted, “In a second!”

That one got through to her. She popped her mouth closed in a pout and said, “Why?”

“I gotta ask you something.”

Blair sighed like she was the one being inconvenienced right now. Finally, she let go of him, arms falling to her sides, and Soul took the opportunity to eject himself from her vicinity. Ignoring his bags scattered on the ground, he took one big step backward.

“What is it?” Blair said impatiently.

“Where’d you hear about me and Maka?” asked Soul. Then, full of so much hope, he added, “Did she tell you?”

“No, silly!” Ah, shit. “Her papa did!”

That was exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

Puzzle pieces were starting to click together where Soul didn’t want them to.

Blair.

Blair worked at Chupa Cabra’s.

“When did you talk to Death Scythe?” asked Soul.

Blair gave a vague wave of her hand. “Oh, we talk all the time!” she said. “I wanted to find out how dinner went, so I asked him, and he said—”

“You knew about dinner, too?”

“Knew about it? It was my idea!”

Pandora’s box was bottomless.

“He knows Maka and I are close,” Blair went on, “so he asks me about her sometimes. I told him he should ask her to dinner if he wants to spend time with her. Every girl likes a nice dinner!”

“Wait, wait, wait—”

“Nope!” said Blair. “You said you wanted to ask me something. I just answered three whole somethings!”

“Blair,” Soul complained.

It was useless.

“Your turn to tell me something now!” she said, and, holding her hands up on either side of her chest, made a weird little kneading motion in his direction.

Freak of nature, thought Soul.

“You need to—”

“How did it happen?” asked Blair. “When did it happen?” Then, she gasped again and said, “Oh, I’m so proud of you! I always thought you two would make such a cute little couple!”

She waited for an answer then, for all of about two seconds, but when all Soul did was stand there in dumbstruck silence, she rolled her eyes at him, clicking her tongue. “Oh, fine!” she said. “If you don’t wanna tell me, I’ll ask Maka.”

Oh, God, no.

Soul blurted out: “You do not wanna talk to Maka right—”

Too late. Bending over at the waist, Blair daintily picked up one of Soul’s bags and started off in the direction of the apartment.

“Blair!” Soul shouted.

She paid him no attention whatsoever.

He started to go after her, but then he remembered the rest of the bags. As pissed as Maka was going to be if she found out Blair had been the indirect cause of her suffering, she would be double pissed if Soul came home without her tea.

“Wait!” he called, nearly tripping over his own shoes trying to catch up to Blair.

She pointed her chin into the air and shut her eyes, ignoring him even as he scampered up beside her.

“Look, I’ll tell you! Just hold on a second!”

It worked.

Blair opened one eye and looked sideways at him, the corners of her lips curling into a smile.

“It’s just—it’s a long story, okay?”

“I like stories,” said Blair.

Soul breathed in deep, then let it out in a long, loud huff.

Maka was going to have a fit.

All this time, she was so upset about this mysterious woman she thought her father was hiding from her, and turns out she didn’t fucking exist. It was Blair. It had been Blair the whole time.

There was absolutely no reason for them to do what they did.

Not that Soul regretted it. (Except for “I was bluffing,” which was keeping him up at night.) He didn’t think Maka would, either, but he did expect her to be awfully embarrassed when she found out the woman she spent so much time fretting over was, of all people, just Blair, and worse yet, that there was no justice in the stunt they had pulled together. It wasn’t the subtle “fuck you” to her father that she thought it was, but it must have been the most bewildering thing to ever happen to him, which made it pretty funny regardless.

And, Soul figured, it had a happy ending.

“Walk slow,” he said, and took it from the top.


End file.
